


Little Victories

by mockingjayne



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:35:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21746875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mockingjayne/pseuds/mockingjayne
Summary: "Her silent daydreams having blinded her to the inevitable danger awaiting her, but rather than dissipate like a nightmare fading into oblivion, she clings to the image of a baby that looks a lot like Glenn."
Relationships: Maggie Greene & Glenn Rhee, Maggie Greene/Glenn Rhee
Kudos: 12





	Little Victories

Her exhausted body meanders down the cell block, the sun having set several hours ago, the moonlight shining through the windows her only form of light guiding her to the place she was currently calling home. She spots a familiar curtain dangling in the doorway of a cell, it hangs stagnant, its lack of movement the result of summer heat engulfing them in a haze of thick air that slowly felt like it was suffocating the life out of them. Her aching muscles acting as a constant reminder that she was still alive, still breathing.

She moves the curtain aside, their only form of privacy from prying eyes, the thin material feeling heavy to her, the weight of the day settling down on her, the magnitude of what could be permeating her thoughts as she strips out of her sweaty shirt, opting for a thin tank top to combat the heat. She rests her hands on the makeshift shelf they’d constructed, taking a deep breath, as hair falls softly against her cheek, a loud exhale fluttering the shield of brown locks suspended in the air for half a second before settling back against her.

A silent mantra plays in her head with every exchange of breath, in - out, the only proof she needs that everything will eventually work out. The fight inside her, while withering tonight as the thought of sleep calls her name, rests in embers inside her.

Slowly turning around and crawling into bed, she doesn’t even make it to her side of the bed - not that she ever does when he’s away - her head settles on the striped pillow, abandoning the floral one resting next to it. She buries her face in the faded pattern, the scent of Glenn immediately inundating her senses with something so uniquely him, lulling her into a state of security, her safe haven from the chaotic, dangerous world. Eyes fluttering shut, her arms wrap around the pillow, acting as a surrogate for the real thing.

The next thing she knows, she feels a dip in the mattress, her arms grip tighter to the pillow, as she ever so gradually floats to consciousness. Her eye cracks open to find her husband hunched over, removing his boots with an edge of clumsiness that only he could achieve while still sitting, jolting the mattress several times, the waves of the springs moving her up and down with the pressure of his back and forth in the yanking of his shoes.

He glances over at her, a sleepy smile spreading across his face. “You’re on my side of the bed again,” he whispers out, not wanting to wake the rest of the block.

She smiles back in kind. “It smells like you,” she says, squeezing the pillow tighter, before unclenching her fist and reaching out to grab his forearm, tracing the vein straining beneath the weight of balance he places on it.

He shakes his head in mock exasperation, his hair having grown longer in the past months, causing it to catch on his eyelashes. Standing to remove his shirt, he motions with his hand for her to scoot over, and she only complies once he’s nearly on top of her. Gripping his arm she makes her way back to her own pillow, the one closest to the wall. He’d long since claimed the right side as his side, shrugging his shoulders when she asked why he got to have that side, but all the while knowing full well that he’d assumed the more vulnerable position, acting as her very own personal barrier, with her safely tucked behind him, resting up against a wall. He was always doing that - putting her safety above his own, never wanting her to be in danger. Ever.

As soon as he’s settled, she peers up at him, green eyes reflecting hesitation back at him. The mantra she’d been playing in her head earlier comes back, muttering the words to herself - in, out - like a litany of prayers, building up the courage to say what she’d been letting fester for a while, his response hopefully muted by the exhaustion radiating from him.

She rests her head against his shoulder, her lips hovering above his steady heartbeat, drumming against her ear, the thumping picking up in tempo to match her own as she places a soft, tentative kiss against his chest.

“I’m late,” her lips flutter against his skin. The words slip out, released into the sticky air, carrying their weight to the room and settling unsuspectingly on the still form below her. She can feel his entire body suddenly tense, and for several seconds she thinks of every horrid situation that could arise from this news. She closes her eyes tightly, her lashes tickling his skin, shuddering against him.

“What?” he chokes out, his voice shaky, indicating that although he questions her statement, he knows exactly what’s going on.

She opens her eyes, daring to glance up at him, unable to see his eyes shifting nervously in the dark, before vacating her spot against him as he pushes into a sitting position.

Looking back at her, she can see the worry etched across his face, images of herself, bloody and cradling a tiny baby, tears streaming down her face as she delivers the news that Lori hadn’t made it likely streaming into the forefront of his mind, as images from that day won’t seem to leave her either since she realized what could maybe be happening to her.

But she knows that’s not what he needs to hear right now, and although the fear radiates in her bones, she’d decided around the same time she’d noticed things weren’t right on schedule, that she wasn’t going to let the fear take over. She tilts her head at him, a reassuring smile peeking out.

“It’s probably nothin’. It’s only been a couple of weeks,” she explains. “It’s probably just stress…I just thought you should know…you know…in case it is…somethin’.” She stares back at him, waiting for his response.

He nods, silently, her first sign that something was off. Glenn was an over-thinker, verbalizing his worries to her, usually in an awkward ramble that ended with him admitting something he maybe hadn’t planned to blurt out. And while eternally optimistic, he had his fears, and this was apparently one of them, as he clammed up, worry sinking deep within him, exhaustion spreading tenfold.

Running his hands through his hair, he settles back down, adjusting into the pillow, eyes staring straight above him. Maggie waits hesitantly, resting on her own side, watching his jaw clench, before his head turns towards her. A smile that looks more like a grimace makes its way to his face, before leaning forward and placing a gentle kiss to her forehead, his hand coming to shakily tangle in her hair, before settling back down in the warmth of the sheets.

Scooting back over to him, refusing to let this create distance between them, her lips rest precariously on his shoulder. His arm comes to wrap around her, pulling her closer still - the cocoon he’s created in his warm embrace lulling her back to sleep, the words, “Yeah, it’s probably nothing,” floating across her as he softly repeats her reassurance, casting a stream of steady breaths cascading around her, dissipating any nerves she had from before, and allowing her to drift off to sleep.

xxxxxx

She reaches up, wiping the sweat from her forehead with the bandana wrapped around her wrist, the sun beating down on her, bronzing her skin further. The heat seemed to be particularly brutal today, but she’d volunteered for a shift at the fence, allowing the frustration of the morning to be taken out on the current herd gathering at the chain link, waiting to be rendered incapacitated by her.

Accomplishing something made her feel needed, capable. She’d complied with Glenn’s wish that she stay back, skipping the run that day, even though there was practically blood in her mouth from biting her tongue - wanting to argue that she was just as able to do the run as anyone, more so maybe, given her experience in the past. But she’d taken one look at his panic stricken face, the worry for her clearly etched with every worried crease of his forehead. She knew there was more he’d wanted to say but it had come out in the form of a request, all his fears piled into one suggestion that perhaps she shouldn’t put herself in the direct line of possible danger today.

She’d reassured him that everything would be alright, and he’d kissed her back like he believed her words to be true. But there had been a hesitation, a brief moment where she’d had to repeat herself, and in that moment his false smile sealed with a kiss hadn’t been enough to convince her that he was okay in the least. So she’d reluctantly agreed not to go out, instead she was left to ruminate over the unknown future, laced with the usual worry whenever Glenn left the walls of the prison - especially since she wasn’t there to personally make sure he was still in one piece.

She grips the fence, the jagged metal digging into her fingers, looking down at her sweaty shirt, her flat stomach hidden beneath the material. Images of a rounder version of herself linger, the thought of baby inside her bringing a small, barely there smile to her face. For as much as they’ve struggled and worked to get where they are, she feels safe now. The imminent threat having excavated from them, the fence keeping the dead out, a barrier giving them permission to live - to really live. 

These past few months they’d cultivated their own community. Their way of life had drastically changed from fighting to survive to actually getting to enjoy the little luxuries that she hadn’t had since leaving the farm. There was a system, a routine that they followed, and it worked. They were safe. They were able to build a life. To make a life. Literally. Maybe.

She could see them living here for the long haul, her and Glenn, and a smiling baby with dark hair. It was there right on the fringe on her mind, the possibility looming over them, and she decided it was something she wanted. Something that they could have, something they could do.

It was then that a loud jolt startled her, her tight grip on the fence relinquished, jumping back as a walker slammed itself against the links, the rattling ringing out down the line.

“You okay?” Karen yells at her from her position several feet away.

Maggie nods, having let her guard down for a split second only to be thrown screeching back into reality - the threat of the outside literally at their front door, waiting for a misstep.

She finds her hand resting on the flat of her stomach as she catches her breath. Her silent daydreams having blinded her to the inevitable danger awaiting her, but rather than dissipate like a nightmare fading into oblivion, she clings to the image of a baby that looks a lot like Glenn.

xxxxxx

He smacks her butt playfully as she climbs the ladder, and she swats his hand away with a coy smile, balancing with one arm before pushing the square door up to their little hideaway.

Despite the tower now adorning gaping holes in the walls thanks to their most recent encounter with the Governor, they’d managed to salvage what they could. They often snuck away when they both had the night off or had something particularly pressing to discuss, seeing as it offered the best form of privacy. 

As she spreads the blankets back out, having been displaced with the opening of the door, she collapses onto the soft mound, still completely clothed.

A relieved look paints Glenn’s face as he stares down at her - the news of their scare being just that, having brought him the kind of comfort that she wish she could find. If she were being honest with herself, she knows that now wouldn’t have been a great time. But it could’ve been. They could’ve done it, raised a baby.

That same image of a baby from earlier this afternoon refusing to disappear, but rather becoming more bold in its contrast - the idea of them as parents, living a life that they would’ve had had the world not gone to shit.

As he bends down, spreading out next to her, they face each other, a lazy smile spreading across her face as she reaches out, running her hand through his longer hair. She can feel an identical smile to her’s against her wrist.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” she whispers, the words swallowed by the darkness, but radiated in his look of relief. They’d had so many close calls, but she never took for granted that he always came home to her. She always knew there was a possibility that one day there could be a time where he didn’t, but she quickly pushed those thoughts from her mind, choosing instead to remain grateful and leave it at that.

“Hmm,” he hums, his hand coming to rest on her hip. His eyes close, as if gathering up the nerve to say what comes next. “About earlier…,” he ventures, broaching their shared differences on a close call of a different kind.

“We don’t have to think about it right now,” she offers up a white flag, allowing him to bypass a conversation that doesn’t need to be had. Not tonight.

“No, we should. I want to. I just…it really freaked me out. I mean look what happened today, I couldn’t even keep…no one is safe. How would I keep a baby safe?” He collapses to his back, removing his hand from her.

Rather than a look of distress gracing her features, a smile overtakes her, propping herself up on her arm to hover next to him.

“I think you’d be better at it than you’re givin’ yourself credit for,” she reasons, moving to rest her chin on his chest, peering up at him.

“You really want this, huh?” he asks, but it comes out more as a statement than a question.

“To build a life with you?” she pauses, burying her face in his chest - the warmth of him radiating through her. “We get so few choices anymore…so yeah, I want it.”

He nods his head, a serious look adorning his face, and then he’s smiling and nervously laughing, catching her off guard. “Okay,” he gets out as his laughter dies down, and he pulls her closer, her fist balling up the shirt he still has on. “Okay,” he repeats, and she leans up to capture his lips in a sweet kiss, like a habit, the kind you don’t even want to try to break.

As they settle into their sleeping materials, not even bothering to discard their clothes, exhaustion hitting them hard. She snuggles up against his solid form, her hair tickling this neck. Silence reigns down over them, both content to just be.

And just as her eyes begin to shut, she whispers out, “Tell me something.” She can feel his silent smile, a nod to a time that seems so long ago. They’d used to play this game when they first met and they knew nothing of each other except that they didn’t want anything bad to happen to the other. She’d heeded her need to pepper him with questions, instead asking him to tell her something, anything, letting him have control over what he told her. Sometimes the response was as silly as his favorite pizza topping and sometimes they took a more serious tone, recalling memories of his family.

They hadn’t played their game of sorts in what felt like forever, having long since established that they knew everything they needed to about each other, but tonight, among the barely there breeze in the staggering humidity of a starry night, the request lingered.

She thinks maybe he’s fallen asleep, his lack of response and even breathing indicating that exhaustion has perhaps won out over him. Gripping him a little tighter, she settles in to give into sleep herself, when she hears his voice echo in their tiny box. 

“I want it, too.”

It’s the last thing she hears, his words washing over her, bathing her in warmth, until the next morning when the shutter of a polaroid camera startles her awake.


End file.
